


Borderline

by daisydiversions



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen, M/M, meganebucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-18
Updated: 2008-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisydiversions/pseuds/daisydiversions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuji comes to help Yuushi decorate the flat.  Fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borderline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zoesque](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=zoesque).



Atobe arrived home to the smell of acrylics and the resigned notion that he wasn't going to like whatever chosen task Yuushi had taken to busying himself with during his indefinite self-exile from the working world. Why Yuushi couldn't just spend his days buying out obscenely posh boutiques like all the other wives of CEOs, Atobe did not know.

What he did know, however, was that the pair of loafers by the door were undoubtedly Fuji's, and a signature Fuji-induced migraine was primed and ready to settle in. 

Today had not been the easiest of days already and Fuji could have been here for hours, kneading all sorts of ideas into Yuushi's persuadable sensibilities. And getting Commoner all over Atobe's penthouse.

By the time he wrenched open the bedroom door, Atobe had worked himself into a perfectly dignified fit. “Go home, you airheaded plight on all that is decent,” Atobe snapped before turning to the room's other occupant. “You too, Fuji.”

“Darling!” Yuushi beamed, his arms immediately catching Atobe in a death hold around the neck and waist. “Welcome home~!”

“Hm,” Atobe grumbled, but allowed himself to be squeezed.

They'd apparently started by the door with a respectable ivy stencil, but by the time they'd wrapped around to the other side of the room, the proper border had degraded into freehand of an assortment of woodland animals, a rainbow variety of flip flops in compromisingly sexual positions, and half of the San-X line looking intent to remake the 'Yatta' PV. 

Despite his usual bright smile, Fuji was in a foul mood if the scene of dozens of Pikmin being systematically annihilated by an encroaching Katamari was anything to judge by. Atobe would have been gleeful if he was the sort of petty person who took pleasure in other people's pathetic sufferings (which really only happened because Shishidou made it so very easy to laugh at him), except that Atobe knew a vengeful Fuji was a detriment to society. Any Fuji was a detriment to society, really.

“What do you think of our art, Keigo, darling?” Yuushi asked emphatically, wasting no time in freeing his dress shirt from his trousers, while attaching his lips to Atobe's neck with the zeal of a hormonal vampire, who'd just painted Beer-chan in a diaper all over the room he had to sleep in. “Isn't it chic?”

Atobe was not a weak man, but he had a thing about not wanting to make his boyfriend cry when said boyfriend had his tongue in Atobe's ear. Call it scruples or propriety, but Atobe ground his teeth together and didn't answer.

“Tomorrow,” Fuji commented idly, looking down at his fingernails like the sadistic beast he was. “We're doing Tezuka and Echizen's flat. Just like this. Won't that be nice?”

Atobe sort of liked Fuji when he was being a vengeful hag. 

“Delightful,” he confirmed, kissing an ecstatic Yuushi on the cheek and kicking Fuji out before he could invite himself to dinner.

Tonight, they would bed down in the guest room to avoid any Pikmin related dreaming, and Atobe slept easy with a happy Yuushi by his side and the, admittedly petty, glee of imagining the unspeakable torments Fuji would unleash on Tezuka's walls tomorrow, by the time Atobe would have called the painters to put his own bedroom back to rights again.

 

At the office, no one told Atobe about the painty hand print on his back pocket.


End file.
